THE  ROBERT  E    COWAN  COLLECTION 

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UNIVERSITY  OF  CflLlFORNIR 

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C   P   HUNTINGTON 

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Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

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M  S\N  FKANCISCO:  !®, 

Ta       EDWARD  A.  WEED,  BOOK  &  JOB  PKINTEU.  2222  MISSION  ST.       ^^' 

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PRICE  50  CENTS. 


SAN  FRANCISCO: 
EDWARD  A.  WEED,  BOOK  &  JOB  PRINTER,  2208  MISSION  ST. 


^  ^  ^<^f^.  f.  ^ 


*^^^  C  Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Gcmgrees,  in  the  year  1882,  by 
-^^  j  ELIZA  A.  PITT8INOEB, 

In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  GongresB,  at  Washington.    *) 


^ 


7  4-fo/o 


-8 —   "^^ DEDICATION -^^^r   ^=^^ 


To  the  loyal  Men  and  Women  of  the  R3pnblio;  to  all  who  love 
her  Institutions— and  especially  to  the  Heroic  defenders  of  our  Glo- 
rious Public  Schools,  these  Sybilline  Leaves  are  most  earnestly  ded- 
icated by 

Theib  Author. 


Were  the  Author  of  these  "Bugle  Peals'^  a  Politician,  with  an 
ambition  measured  by  the  highest  number  of  votos;  or  an  Editor, 
even,  over  solicitous  in  regard  to  Subscription  lists,  they  would  not 
now  be  sounded.  She  has  no  apologies  to  offer,  no  favors  to  solicit; 
nor  any  desire  of  winning  laurels  by  their  publication,  except  an 
appreciation  from  the  Loyal  and  Clear  Sighted— from  that  class  in 
the  community,  who,  like  "Watchmen  on  the  walls  of  Zion,"  are 
standing  as  guards  and  sentinels  over  our  Ameiican  Institutions — 
and  who,  in  D£E3>8,  as  ik  wobds,  would  forever  shield  them  from  the 
influence  of  foreign  spies,  seditions  factions,  and  meddling  Hier- 
archies. 

E.  A.  P. 


^j — ^  ^j<i'®^'^;si 


Rouse,  Ye  Americans 9 

The  Assassination  of  the  Prince  of  Orange 11 

The  Jesuit  (with  accompanying  criticisms) 14 

Shake  up  the  Union 17 

Ye  Cannot  Serve  Rome  and  America 19 

Kissing  the  Pope's  Toe 21 

A  Reply  to  Priest  Hecker 23 

Father  Crogan  and  the  Bible 26 

Invocation  to  the  Reformers 29 

Down  with  the  Convent 31 


ROUSE,    YE    AMERICANS! 


[The  following  spirited  and  stirring  Poem  was  written  abunt  two 
years  ago:  since  which  time  it  has  been  recited  by  the  Authoress 
before  the  Patriotic  Order  Sons  of  America  of  this  city— and  been 
solicited  for  the  same  purpose  by  several  of  their  Camps  in  the 
Atlantic  States.] 


Bouse,  ye  Americans!  awake. 

For  Freedom  and  onr  Country's  sakef 

O,  in  one  solid  phalanx  stand 

As  sentinels  to  guard  the  land! 
The  serpent  in  our  midst  doth  coil, 
His  slime  is  on  our  native  soil; 

Arise,  like  Spartans  crowned  with  mighty 

Like  Warriors,  arming  for  the  fight! 

Kouse,  ye  Americans!    'Tis  time 

To  rend  the  mask,  and  stay  the  crime; 
Tis  time  to  undermine  the  foe, 
To  turn  aside  the  treacherous  blow 

A  Jesuitic,  crafty  band 

In  secret  conclave  long  hath  planned 
To  strike  destruction,  and  disarm 
Our  nation  of  its  chief  est  charm! 

'Tis  time  to  sound  the  clarion  peal,  , 

To  wake  the  honor,  stir  the  zeal, 

The  valiant  blood  whose  life  remains 
A  sacred  pledge  in  freedom's  veins, 

'Tis  time  to  rouse  the  latent  thrill, 

To  fire  and  energize  the  will 

Of  each  heroic  soul  that  throws 
The  gauntlet  to  our  Country's  foesf 

'Tis  time  to  sound  the  bugle-horn 
Through  deepest  midnight  to  the  mom. 

Until  each  clear,  prophetic  tone 

Shall  thunder  through  each  clime  and  zone! 


lO  ROUSE.  YE  AMERICANS! 

*Ti8  time,  as  freemen  of  the  soil, 
To  crash  the  serpent  in  his  coil, 

To  f^nd  him,  as  indeed  we  most. 
With  all  our  mitiht  into  the  doail 

Thon  oantini^,  hypooritio  priest. 
Bevelling  in  thy  ill-gained  feast, 
Place  not  thy  sin-poUuted  hands 
On  freedom's  fair  and  hallowed  lands! 
Thy  breath  is  lost  and  poisonous  slime. 
Thy  pledfte  a  lie,  thine  oath  a  crime, 

Thy  Hymbols  the  dark  sifins  that  dwell 
Within  the  deepest  shades  of  hell- 
So  then,  thun  wily,  plotting  priest. 
Still  revelling  in  thy  godless  feast. 
Beware  the  Angel  who  doth  stand 
With  flaming  sword  to  guard  onr  Innd! 

Beware  the  tme,  heroic  fires 
Deaoending  from  oar  Pilgrim  Sires: 
Beware  the  spirit  that  awakes. 
And  in  its  thundering  volley  breaks! 
Beware  the  clear  and  searching  eyes 
That  know  thy  plans,  and  read  thy  lies. 
By  which  with  mask  all  rent  and  torn, 
Of  priestly  robe  and  mitre  shorn, 
Stripped  of  thy  vaunted  gold  and  green, 
In  thy  true  colors  thou  art  seen! 


ye  Americans!    *Ti8  time 
To  soond  the  tocsin,  probe  the  crime. 
To  tear  the  mask  from  treason^s  face, 
And  its  dark,  bloated  form  deface! 
*Tts  time  to  tread  the  mitre  down. 
And  on  its  blood-stained  signals  frown; 
*Tis  time  to  place  the  valiant  heel 
Upon  the  serpent,  and  to  feel 
The  old  heroic  vengeance  glow 
Against  a  loathsome,  lurking  foe! 
A  treacherous  enemy  with  hand 
Now  raised  against  a  generous  land« 
Whose  bounteous  gifts  alone  could  save 
The  eravens  from  a  pauper's  graved 


THE  ASSASSINATION  OF  THE  PRINCE  OF  ORANGE. 


THE  ASSASSINATION  OF  THE  PRINCE  OF  ORANGE. 


The  arm  of  the  assassin  wag  nerved, 
The  hand  of  Balthazar*  was  dyed 

In  the  life-blood  of  him  who  had  served. 
With  a  patriot's  courage  and  pride, 

And  a  vigor  that  never  had  swerved, 
As  bravely  he  breasted  the  tide, 

Gave  up,  without  honor  or  place, 

His  fortune  and  life  to  his  race. 

'Twas  a  time  when  the  tear-drops  sprang 
To  the  stalwart  cheeks  of  the  brave, 

And  the  whole  of  The  Netherlands  rang 

With  the  names  that  their  records  engrave 
On  the  tombs  of  the  hero  and  knave. 

'Mid  the  gathering  temi^est  and  gloom 
The  Flag  of  the  Cross  was  unfurled, 

And  awhile  the  sad  Angel  of  doom 
Wept  over  a  languishing  world. 

The  people  were  veiled  in  a  cloud, 

Their  vilest  destroyer  had  come, 
The  children  were  crying  uloud, 

And  the  valiant  defenders  were  dumb — 
All  the  cities  were  clad  in  despair, 

O,  great  was  the  terror  and  pain 
When  the  Demon  leapt  out  of  his  lair, 
And  'Good  Father  Wi.llinm"+  was  slain. 

From  Louvain  to  Ostrawell, 

From  the  inland  to  the  strand. 
A  wail  of  weeping  fell 

Along  the  Fatherland— 
From  Amt^erdam  to  Ghent, 

O,  it  was  sad  to  see 
The  fountain  of  woe  that  siwnt 

Its  tears  by  the  Zuider  Zeel 

*  Balthazar  Gerard,  a  CathoHc,  was  paid  a  large  sum  of  money 
for  committing  the  atrocious  deed,  by  lung  Philip  of  Spain. 

t  A  title  bestowed  upon  him  by  his  loving  people. 


12        THE  ASSASSINATION  OF  THE  PRINCE  OF  ORANGE. 

Ill  a  tempeHt  of  diHnuiy, 

With  n  sadden  liKhtninft  Ktroke, 
ThrouRh  Ilotterdani  and  Spa 

The  fearful  tidingn  broke; 
But  Lilterty  unfurled 

Her  banners  to  the  light. 
And  Iiefore  a  fiazinj;  world 

Whet  her  sabre  for  the  right. 

With  the  wily  King  of  Spain. 

And  the  treacherous  King  of  France, 
Through  the  shifting  and  the  bane, 

The  retreat  and  the  advance 
Of  the  forces  in  their  play. 

'Twas  a  wonder  to  liehuld 
How  the  heroes  won  their  way 

Through  that  fiery  Kiege  of  old. 

But  the  Hoi  hinder  Imd  sworn. 

With  his  sword  in  his  hand, 
That  his  country  should  l>e  shorn 

Of  its  vile  and  bloody  band — 
His  heart  was  like  his  steel, 

And  his  spirit  like  the  grand 
Old  energy  and  zeal 
That  the  Sons  of  Freedom  feel 

With  a  deadly  foe  at  hand. 

And  thus  the  seed  was  sown. 

It  was  there  to  germinate 
Where  no  sceptre  and  no  throne 

Could  overturn  it  with  their  hate. 
It  was  nursed  in  tears  and  gloom. 

With  the  blood  of  martyrs  fed. 
While  the  clash  and  whirl  of  doom 

Its  fiery  pageants  sped. 

It  was  watched  in  ways  untold, 

And  encompassed  with  the  brand 
Of  a  despot  who  had  gold 

And  allies  in  every  land — 
By  the  mitred  sons  of  crime 

It  was  threatened,  it  was  sought, 
But  the  heroes  of  their  time, 

Through  the  years  of  turmoil, 


THE  ASSASSINATION  OF  THE  PRINCE  OF  ORANGE.         13 

In  a  kingly  splendor  wrought, 

And  with  courage  brave  and  firm 

Guarded  well  the  murky  soil 

That  contained  the  subtle  germ, 

'Till  its  branches,  dewy  bright, 

Kissed  the  first  beams  of  the  light. 

Thus  at  last  was  freedom  won 

From  the  foes  that  swarmed  her  land, 

And  her  brave,  illustrious  son, 
In  a  pathos  sad  and  grand, 

Crowned  that  stormy  siege  of  strife 

With  the  last  sweet  throb  of  life. 

From  Cologne  to  Duffel  and  Douny, 

From  the  uttermost  verge  to  Naarden, 
Nought  was  heard  on  that  sorrowful  day 

But  the  wailing  of  women  and  men — 
Their  hopes  were  all  written  in  sand, 

A  bird  of  ill  omen  had  flown 
Above  their  dear  heads,  and  the  land 

To  a  merciless  desert  had  grown. 

Ring  Philip  had  published  a  ban. 

Had  offered  a  price  for  his  head. 
By  which  this  dear  Ood-fearing  man 

Like  a  lamb  to  the  slaughter  was  led. 

With  a  murderous  passion  deferred 

With  a  lunacy  burning  within, 
There  came  from  the  clamorous  herd 

A  son  of  perdition  and  sin — 
He  came,  and  the  hero  no  more 

Gave  hope  to  the  toiling  band, 
Who  sought  in  their  might  to  restore 

The  hopes  of  their  suffering  land. 

The  people  were  veiled  in  a  cloud, 

Their  vilest  destroyer  had  come, 
The  children  were  crying  aloud. 

And  the  valiant  defenders  were  dumb- 
All  the  cities  were  clad  in  despair. 

And  great  was  the  terror  and  pain 
When  the  demon  leapt  out  of  his  lair, 

And  Good  Father  William  was^lain. 


14-        THE  ASSASSINATION  OF  THE  PRINCE  OF  ORANGE. 

"Have  mercy,  O  Father.  I  pray, 

On  my  people,"  he  lovingly  said, 
Ab  the  Roul  still  encumbered  with  clay, 

By  the  bond  of  affection  was  led — 
"My  poor  people,  O  Godr'  not  again 

Moved  those  lipe  to  that  sorrowful  tone; 
On  that  brow  was  no  signal  of  pain, 

All  was  still,  the  sweet  spirit  had  flown! 


THE  JESUIT. 

ABCHBI8HOP   PCECELL*S   CKITIQUE.    AS    PUBLISHED   IN 
'THE  CATHOLIC  TELEGRAPH,"  OF  CINCINNATI. 


[This  Poem  was  fir  it  contributed  by  its  Author  to  **The  Camp 
News."  the  Orean  of  "The  Patriotic  Order  Sons  of  America,"  pub- 
lishea  at  Philadelphia:  which  brought  forth  from  this  Catholic 
Dignitary  the  following  reuiurks;] 

*'The  editor  of  this  delectable  sheet,  who  rentdes  at  Philadelphia, 
evidently  thinks  his  readers  can  not  have  to3  much  of  a  good  thing, 
aa  is  evident  from  his  note: 

(The  following  excellent  lines  were  written  for  onr  August  issue 
and  now  republished  by  request.— Ed. ) 

on  a  beautiful  and  highly  Christian  poem,  of  which   Ihe  following 
is  the  first  stanza: 

THE  JESUIT. 


BT  EXJZA  A.  PITTSnVOKB. 


In  Bome  a  tyrant,  and  in  Spain  a  thing 
That  wears  a  mask  and  bears  a  poisonous  sting, 
In  India  a  stranger,  in  France  a  knave, 
In  Ireland  a  bigot  and  n  slave: 
In  our  Republic  a  designing  tool 
And  trailer  warring  with  the  Public  School— 
And  whether  in  Greece,  in  Hindoostan  or  Spain, 
His  record  bears  the  progeny  of  Cain. 
The  other  five  stanzas  are,  if  anything,  more  abominable  than 
the  first.    After  this  little  exposition  of  the  tenets  of  the  Patriotic 
Order  of  Sons  of  America,  we  hope  the  Patriotic  Sons  of  the  Cath- 
olic Church  in  America,  will  watch  the  localities  infested  by  the 
said  order,  in  the  interests    of   .their  Church,  their    children,  and 
their  homes.    AltaF  and  fireside  are  both  threatened." 


THE  JESUIT.  15 

CRITICISM  BY    ONE    OF    THE  LITEKATI  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


"Home,  Sweet  Home."  made  its  author,  Howard  Payne,  immortal. 
"The  Battle  Hymn  of  the  Republic,"  has  given  Julia  "Ward  Howe 
a  place  in  the  pantheon  of  lyric  verse.  There  are  tributes  to  pa- 
thetic destiny,  to  lofty  inspiration,  and  to  the  holiest  memories  of 
the  human  heart;  hence  their  everlasting  enshrinement.  Others 
have  become  immortal  throuj^h  their  works  because  of  adverse 
and  relentless  criticisms.  The  Scottish  Reviewers,  undoubtedly, 
gave  the  prime  and  main  impulse  to  the  grand  creations  of  Byron. 
'•The  Wandering  Jew,"  because  of  the  anathemas  of  Rome,  has 
made  Eugene  Sue  the  conspicuous  figure  he  is  in  fictitious  narrative. 
And  there  exists  no  doubt  but  that  the  author  of  "The  Jesuit,"  this 
spirited  and  talented  Poet  of  the  Golden  State,  ia  to  have  placed 
upon  her  temple  the  wreath  of  the  undying.  Surely,  if  the  brilliant 
efforts  of  an  earnest  worker  against  the  designinff  and  Anti-Repub- 
lican Jesuit  can  give  conspicuity  or  immortality,  then  our  poet  is 
verily  to  become  a  living  memory. 

"The  Jesuit"  is  an  embodiment  of  an  inspiration  that  is  scarcely 
surpaased;  unless  by  other  efforts  of  the  same  writer.  It  is  an  in- 
cision as  of  a  blade  of  fire,  cleaving  the  hablot  or  the  tibeb. 
The  whole  nature  of  the  personnel  of  the  military  arm  of  the  Ro- 
man Catholic  Hierarchy  is  laid  open  to  inspection  by  the  masterly 
effort  of  Mrs.  Pittsinger.  "The  Jesuit,"  however,  is  only  one  of 
many  Creations  of  a  similar  character  from  the  pen  of  this  really 
meritorious  poet  of  the  "Far  West."  The  fact  that  Rome  writhes 
beneath  the  strokes  of  her  subtle  and  penetrating  lance  proves  that 
she  has  power;  and  is  finally  to  become  a  c-onspicuous  figure  in  the 
annals  of  Roman  hate. 

The  poem  is  as  follows: 


In  Rome  a  tyrant,  and  in  Spain  a  thing 

That  wejirs  a  mask  and  beara  a  poisonous  sting. 

In  India  a  strangler,  in  France  a  knave. 

In  Ireland  a  bigot  and  a  slave; 

In  our  Repul)lic  a  designing  tool 

And  traitor  warring  with  the  Public  School — 

And  whether  in  Greece,  in  Hindoostan  or  Spain, 

His  record  bears  the  progeny  of  Cain. 

In  the  black  arts  a  chieftain  and  a  king. 
Moving  en  rapport  with  a  sudden  spring. 


16  THE  JESUIT. 

And  in  the  fpixne  of  infamy  and  siu 

He  steals  a  march  lon^  ere  his  foes  begin; 

His  dupes  he  marks,  and  with  a  ruthless  greed, 

VTherein  his  consoienoe  glorifies  the  deed, 

No  means  are  left  untried  by  which  to  take 

The  last  lone  Peter*s  pence,  for  Jesus*  sake! 

In  a  most  marvellous  and  crafty  way 

He  flatters,  fawns  and  pounces  on  his  prey: 

If  at  bis  hands  a  kindly  deed  is  done, 

O,  then  beware  of  some  dark  plot  begun! 

The  robes  of  light  he  dons,  and  serves  his  creed 

In  garments  filched  and  suited  to  his  need! 

Hid  from  the  light  in  some  dark,  musty  aisle, 
He  learns  to  feign,  to  meddle  and  beguile; 
And  in  his  skill  avoids  no  toil  nor  care. 
As  link  on  link  he  weaver  his  wily  snare, 
Spins  his  dark  web,  and  most  adroitly  plies 
On  poor  confiding  bats  and  helpless  flies 
The  vilest  of  all  arts  and  blackest  of  all  lies. 

His  breath  is  like  some  dire  and  dread  simoom, 
Forever  blasting  with  a  curse  and  doom; 
Whatever  he  touches  droops  beneath  the  spell 
Of  some  dark  haunting  shade  cruel  and  fell— 
Wher*er  he  journeys,  wheresoever  toils, 
There  virtue  weeps  and  innocence  recoils, 
And  the  fair  cup  of  life  doth  overflow 
With  desolation,  infamy  and  woe. 

And  thus  he  stands,  a  stigma  and  a  blot. 
With  deeds  confined  to  no  especial  spot- 
Where  carnage,  superstition,  death  and  crime 
Despoil  an  age  or  devastate  a  clime 
There  hath  he  wandered,  there  upon  the  sand 
Hath  left  the  print  of  his  unrighteous  hand. 


,g-^,^  -^^ 


t^^^^^^ 


SHAKE  UP  THE  UNION. 


SHAKE  UP  THE  UNION. 


[The  following  Poem  was  delivered  by  its  Author,  and  received 
with  much  enthusiasm,  at  the  Washington  Birthday  Celebration  giv- 
en at  Washington  Hall,  San  Francisco,  on  the  Evening  of  Feb.  22, 
1881,  by  The  Patriotic  Order  Sons  of  America — The  theme  was  sug- 
gested by  the  contents  of  a  letter  written  by  John  S.  Keeder  of  Ohio, 
their  National  President,  to  I.  A.  Heald,  the  District  President  of 
California.] 


Shake  up  the  Union!  let  it  be 

From  traitors,  spies  and  Jesuits  f  reel 

Divest  it,  even  to  a  man, 

Of  its  l3'ing,  thieving,  dronish  clan; 

And  let  the  sand-lot  still  record 

A  melodrama  of  the  sod! 

Shake  up  the  Union;  sift  it  fine 
Of  crafty  vipers,  groveling  swine; 
Of  noisy  malcontents  that  band 
In  swarming  hordes  upon  our  land! 
O,  lift  the  standard,  rear  the  sign. 
So  high  that  they  may  touch  the  line^ 
Where,  in  a  watch  that  never  sleeps, 
Time  his  eternal  vigil  keex>s! 

O,  from  the  centre  to  each  zone 
Shake  it,  ye  Sons  of  Freemen,  own 
No  law  to  guide  ye  but  the  one 
That  nerved  the  noble  Washington! 
Float  out  your  banners,  raise  them  high/ 
Like  rainbows  let  them  span  the  sky! 
Like  deathless  constellations  set 
Above  our  nation's  parapet; 
Until,  like  sunset  on  a  stream, 
The  very  land  shall  glow  and  gleam? 

Float  out  your  banners!  thrill,  ye  stars. 
And  tremble  with  our  loud  huzzas; 
And  ring,  ye  hallelujahs,  ring, 
Our  Nation's  God  is  Lord  and  King! 


SHAKE  UP  THE  UNION. 

Down,  down,  thoa  treaoherons,  lying  greeUf 

O,  never  let  thy  rnfjs  be  seen, 

( While  yet  the  love  of  land  inspires, ) 

lieaide  the  standard  of  my  siree! 

Away,  away,  thou  hateful  sign. 

Upon  the  parallel  and  line 

()f  papal  policy  and  wrath 

Forever  be  thy  cursed  path! 

Away,  no  more  thy  false  huzzas; 

For  O,  above  our  stripes  and  stars 

A  spirit  reigns— amid  the  blue 

An  eye  that  pierces  through  and  through: 

An  eye  whose  light  is  like  the  Sun, 

And  sleeps  not  Hill  the  day  is  won! 

Bhake  up  the  Union;  make  it  reel 
With  dreams  of  bugle-horn  and  steel! 
O.  grasp  it  in  the  mighty  arms 
Of  light:  and  crown  it  with  the  charms 
That  nerved  our  fathers,  sped  our  sires 
Unflinching  thit>ugh  the  battle-fires! 

The  Union?  stir  it  with  a  brand 
Plucked  by  a  mighty  master  hand! 
Arouse  the  faithful,  nerve  the  true. 
Kindle  its  slumbering  fires  anew, 
And  with  the  horn  of  Gabriel  make 
The  whole  foundation  groan  and  quake! 

O,  Sons  of  Heroes,  in  a  great 
Ovation  to  our  Qolden  State 
The  songs  of  freedom  we  will  sing 
Until  we  make  the  welkin  rin;;;, 
And  every  schoolhouse  of  our  land 
Shall  like  an  armed  battery  stand; 
All  bristling  with  the  fiery  breath 
Of  righteous  wrath  and  papal  death! 

Float  out  your  banners,  firm  and  fast 
Go  nail  their  colors  to  the  mast! 
They  are  the  same  that  Grant  beheld 
When  he  the  great  Philistine  quelled — 
Raise  them  aloft,  they  are  the  same 
That  shed  a  bright,  perennial  flame 


SHAKE  UP  THE  UNION.  IQ 

O'er  Lincoln's  brow,  as  on  the  mom 
That  Freedom  blew  her  golden  horn — 
And  O,  their  loving  folds  were  spread 
Above  our  brave  and  valiant  dead, 
As  in  the  stricken  valleys  they 
Awaited  God's  Redemption  Day! 

Raise  them  aloft!  they  are  the  sign 
And  seal  of  something  most  divine — 
They  are  the  same  that  Freedom  bears 
Above  a  nation's  tears  and  prayers; 
Thai  Genius,  in  the  fadeless  dye 
Of  beauty,  captures  from  the  sky! 


YE  CANNOT  SERVE  ROME  AND  AMERICA. 


INSCRIBED  TO  TBArrOBS,    AND  TOOIiS  OF  THE  VATICAN. 


Ye  cannot  serve  the  Pope  of  Rome, 
And  be  on  Freedom's  soil  at  home! 
Within  a  crafty  viper's  nest 
No  lover  of  the  laud  can  rest; 
No  son  of  our  Republic  league 
"With  anarchy,  treason  or  intrigue! 

So  tell  the  bishop  and  the  nun, 

Not  while  the  earth  moves  round  the  sun 

Will  ever  a  hero  nip  the  bait 

Of  blarney-stone  or  Popish  hate! 

And  with  a  mes.sage  quick  to  Rome, 

Go  tell  the  Pope  to  stay  at  home! 

That  mitre,  gown  and  crucifix 

Are  not  in  love  with  Seventy-six! 

Go  tell  him  that  the  Antipodes 

Are  held  apart  by  separate  roads, 

That  oil  and  water  will  not  mix. 

That  diamonds  are  not  made  of  bricks, 

That  light  and  darkness  are  apart, 


20  YE  CANNOT  SERVE  ROME  AND  AMERICA. 

And  that  his  Crosa  and  Sacred  Heart, 
His  pibberish,  consecrated  seal, 
That  Latin  nonsense  would  conceal, 
Are  but  a  myth,  by  which  to  foil 
And  roh  the  victim  of  hii\  toil! 

By  which  the  Priest,  for  Biddy's  pay, 
Wi!l  pardon  Biddy's  sins  and  pray. 
And  wipe  away  the  little  tricks 
Of  Ihcft  among  the  heretics! 

Indeed,  IVo  often  hearil  it  said 
Tha;  Biddy's  thieving  acta  wore  led 
By  these  same  triok8t<.>r8.  who  have  long 
Inspired  the  deed,  absolved  the  wrong. 

Ccnveniont  fturely  'tis  to  bo 
Disciples  of  the  Holy  Seel 
To  follow  in  the  wake  and  lead. 
To  bow  and  blarney  to  a  creed. 
That  for  a  moss  of  pottage  old 
By  satan  to  his  minions  sold, 
Can  make  of  foulest  crime  and  sin 
A  web  to  wind  their  victinas  in! 

CoDTenient  His  to  be  a  Priest, 
Grow  sleek  and  fatten  on  the  feast. 
The  Peter's  pence,  the  willing  share, 
That  want  and  degradation  bear! 

From  such  unholy  sacrifice, 
O.  Biddy,  from  thy  knees  arise; 
And  Michael,  Patrick,  Tim  O'Shano, 
Your  fetters  break;  O,  rend  the  chain 
That  binds  ye,  body,  soul  and  brain! 

For  O,  ye  cannot  be  at  home 

"With  Freedom  and  the  Pope  of  lipmo! 

Ye  cannot  bend  a  servile  knee 

Unto  the  meddling  Holy  See, 

And  still  the  true  disciples  be 

To  our  Kepublic;  Seventy  Six 

Is  made  of  metal  not  to  mix 

"With  mitre,  stole  or  crucifix; 

Two  masters  ye  cannot  obey! 


TE  CANNOT  SERVE  ROME  AND  AMERICA.  21 

So  choose  yonr  own  and  go  your  way, 
Still  pondering  what  I  have  to  say! 

If  ye  would  serve  the  Vatican, 

Go  herd  together  in  a  clan, 

And  never  let  your  zeal  be  seen  • 

Except  beneath  your  flags  of  green! 

With  treacherous  and  crafty  lies 

Think  not  to  blind  our  searching  eyes; 

The  tools  of  Rome  ye  cannot  be 

And  still  the  friends  of  Liberty; 

Two  masters  ye  cannot  obey, 

So  choose  your  own  and  go  your  way! 


^•^-mx-^y^^-^ 


KISSING  THE  POPE'S  TOE, 


A  wonderful  toe  doth  the  Pope  possess! 
Kiss  it,  ye  vassals,  and  then  confess! 
Unbosom  your  secrets  to  bigots  and  knaves, 
'Tis  a  custom  they  cherish  of  making  ye  slaves; 
Of  taking  your  money,  and  forging  their  chains 
For  the  work  of  your  hands  and  sweat  of  your  brains! 

Behold,  O,  mine  eyes,  the  meek  pattern  and  sign 
Of  a  poor  devotee  with  his  lips  to  the  shrine! 
Like  the  pagan  of  old  as  he  clasped  to  his  breast 
Some  heathenish  symbol  by  which  he  was  blest, 
Some  vapid,  angainly,  crude,  whimsical  myth, 
Devoid  of  all  reason,  sense,  beauty  or  pith; 
O,  sublime  counterpart,  to  thine  idols  now  sold, 
How  far  dost  thou  rise  o'er  that  pagan  of  old? 

O,  worship  barbaric  and  folly  sublime, 

Can  ye  cover  the  stain,  quench  the  stigma  of  crime? 

Will  your  dogmas  unravel  the  slippery  knot, 

The  noose  and  the  coil  by  thy  neophytes  caught? 

O,  cure,  if  ye  may,  the  last  tremor  and  strife 

Of  a  petrified  conscience,  a  dissolute  life!    . 


22  KISSING  THE  POPES  TOE. 

Heathenish  folly  of  a  heathenish  creed, 
That  the  toe  of  a  pope  should  so  dnzzlo  and  lead! 
That  a  torpid,  corporeal,  odious  thing 
To  a  people  or  race  such  delusion  can  bring! 
.  Surprising,  indeed,  to  what  summit  and  sway 

The  phreusy  of  blind  superstition  gives  way  I 

The  toe  of  the  Pope!  mold  it  quickly  in  stonel 
To  a  putrified  state  it  hath  suddenly  grown! 
Bring  bergamot,  lavender,  otto  of  rose, 
For  the  odor  and  scent  a  miasma  disclose; 
Bring  subtle  aromas  and  heeling  perfumes. 
Exhalations  and  fragrance  of  roseate  blooms. 
And  scatter,  with  a  free  and  sanctified  hand, 
A  flood  of  pure  inomise  over  the  land! 

The  toe  of  the  Pope!  let  it  molder  away, 
Let  it  sink  in  oblivion,  ^-ani8h,  decay, 
Till  its  print  evermore  is  lost  in  the  clay; 
Bear  it  through  valleys  and  shadows  of  gloom^ 
It  is  yours,  O,  ye  ^leotres  of  Flesh,  make  room 
Down  in  the  nethermost  deptlis  of  the  tomb! 

The  toe  of  the  Pope!  kiss  it  quiokly,  depart, 
For  surely,  its  i>ulses  are  not  of  the  heart — 
Kiss  it  now  while  ye  may;  let  your  stupid  lips  clin^ 
To  the  fruitleftSy  anwholesome,  unsavory  thing: 
Kiss  it  quickly  and  hasten:  ere  long  it  will  be 
Like  a  mote  that  is  lost  in  the  waves  of  the  sea! 

A  volume  indeed  might  be  written  to  shed 

Its  light  on  the  manner  the  victims  are  led 

By  this  will-o'-the-wisp,  this  spectre  of  clay, 

That  rules  with  the  sceptre,  and  reigns  with  tie  sway 

Of  a  merciless  despot — ah,  then  might  we  load 

In  the  modus  operandi  the  sinuous  creed, 

By  which  the  ixx>r  terrified  Bupplicants  win 

At  the  feet  of  their  tyrants  absolution  of  sinf 

Arise,  O,  ye  slaves,  rend  your  fetters,  and  stand 
Like  son.?  of  our  patriots  guarding  the  land! 
Arise,  rend  your  fetters,  declare  ye  will  be 
By  the  right  of  your  manhood  untram.neled  and  free! 
Break  the  chains  that  are  forged  by  your  maaters  and 
say 


KISSING  THE  POPE'S  TOE.  23 

As  thoir  victims  and  slaves  ye  no  longer  obey — 
Arise,  stand  like  men,  and  forever  proclaim 
In  the  kissing  of  toes  there  is  folly  and  shame; 
O,  say  to  yonr  comrades,  and  swear  to  the  plan 
That  your  priest  is  a  tyrant,  your  pope  but  a  man, 
Your  bishops,  your  nuns,  and  your  dogmas  a  cheat, 
That  time  and  progression  will  surely  defeat! 

Arise,  break  your  chain,  on  Columbia's  land 
'Neath  the  fold  of  her  banners  as  patriots  standi 
Let  your  deeds  as  your  pledge  forevermore  be 
True  to  that  standard  by  which  ye  are  free- 
Then  will  we  sing  to  our  nation  a  song 
That  may  strengthen  the  weak  and  encourage  tha 

I  trong, 
Bind  up  the  mate  wounds  and  the  sorrows  of  toil. 
And  crown  with  our  garlands  the  Kings  of  the  soil! 


♦  '^=^-:^tJ^'<^^ 


A  REPLY  TO  PRIEST  HECKER. 


'Who  said  "Wo  will  take  this  Country,  and  build  our  Institutions 
over  the  grave  of  Protestantism." 


Thou  recreant,  treacherous  and  gaunt 
Son  of  an  alien  element,  avuunt! 
Wouldst  take  this  Country!  seize  the  land 
By  our  own  valiant  heroes  planned, 
And  breathe  upon  it  the  foul  breath 
Of  desolation,  woe,  and  death! 

On  Liberty's  long  wished  for  grave 
Would  stand  a  craven  cringing  slave! 
Who  on  her  once  proud  soil  would  raise 
A  banner  reeking  in  the  blaze 
Of  ravished  cities — let  us  see 
Which  are  the  stronger,  they  or  thee! 


24-  REPLY  TO  PRIEST  HECKER. 

A  thit-f,  -with  hnndfl  all  stained  in  crime 
Would  rob  fair  freedom  of  her  clime! 
A  stealthy,  orospins,  crawlinjj  thinj?, 
"Would  to  her  lial lowed  altars  bring, 
(Made  hideous  in  its  overflow,) 
A  holocanst  of  sin  and  woe! 

Avaont,  thoa  traitor!  hide  thy  face 

Deep  in  the  depths  of  thy  disgrace! 

The  gods,  fortiooth,  have  made  thee  mad,* 

And  in  a  manner  strange  and  sad, 

(At  least  to  thee,)  have  clearly  wrought 

The  shameless  langnago  of  thy  thought! 

As  they  make  mad  thoj*  will  destroy! 
Host  subtile  measures  they  employ, 
That  bring  to  human  brotherhood 
The  highest  blessiu",  ohiofeat  good! 
'Twaa  well  for  us  tho  i  spake  the  word, 
Twas  well  we  understood  and  heard: 
"•Tin  over  well  and  safe  to  know 
The  Beciet  purpose  of  a  foe! 

So  Father  Hecker,  pray  beware. 
And  speak  thy  wish  with   better  care! 
Perchance  thou  dost  not  know  the  might 
Of  valor  warring  for  the  right; 
Of  vengeance  in  the  deadly  hour 
Of  its  own  grand  mysterious  power! 
Ah,  then  beware  how  thee  or  thine 
Shall  seek  to  cross  the  fiery  line! 

"Wouldst  have  our  country?  then  thy  zeal 
Must  nerve  thy  arm  to  n-eet  cur  steel! 
As  flash  on  flash,  and   blow  on  blow. 
Above  the  soil  would  bum  and  glow, 
As  when  our  sons  their  fury  sent 
Into  the  enemy's  camp,  who  spant 
Their  last  sad  forces  but  to  find 
They  could  not  change  what  God  designed! 
"Wouldst  have  our  coTintry?  then  prepare 
For  infamy,  defeat,  despair! 

♦Whom  the  gods  destroy  they  first  make  mad. 


REPLY  TO  PRIEST  HECKER.  ^5 

0«  Father  Hecker,  pray  desist, 

A.nd  snoh  anoodly  speech  resit*t, 

Lest  thou  evoke  the  valiant  bands 

From  long-remembered  olimes  and  landaf 

Lest  to  the  flesh  thou  call  apain 

The  martyred  ones  thy  church  hath  slaiiw 

Who  in  a  mighty  host  will  stand 

To  crush  thee  with  avenging  handf 

Indeed,  'twas  truly  most  unwiae 

For  thee  to  open  thus  our  eyes; 

To  place  within  our  thankful  haUda 

A  key  to  thy  rebellious  plans! 

'Tis  even  sol  the  gods  destroy 

"Whom  first  they  madden  and  decoy! 

So,  Father  Hecker,  ba  ck  to  Komel 
To  desolation's  joyles ;  home! 
Seek  not,  I  pray,  to  taint  the  bloom 
Of  Liberty  with  blight  and  gloom! 
But  let  the  cherisliod  flbwer  remain 
A  welcome  tribute  of  the  plain, 
Where  once  our  pilgrim  soldiers  bled' 
Beneath  the  waving  folds  that  shed 
On  bloodless  hearts  and  fading  eyes- 
The  symbols  of  their  sacrifice! 

Is  there  no  p'aoe  upon  the  earth 

For  germination  and  the  birth 

Of  error,  bigotry  and  crime, 

But  in  our  long-forbearing  clime? 

Is  there  no  land  where  thou  canst  find" 

More  easy  fetters  for  the  mind? 

Methinks  there  is  some  comer  yet. 
Where  truth  and  mercy  have  not  m^^ 
Some  distant  realm,  some  region  dark, 
Where  never  a  glimmer,  never  a  spark 
Of  light  has  ever  dared  to  shed 
Its  beams,  but  all  lies  cold  and  dead^ 
Some  lonely  desert  where  the  bloom 
Of  life  can  find  no  space  nor  room — 
No  fragrant  tree,  no  singing  rill. 
But  all  is  dismal,  dark  and  still; 
And  there,  thou  impious  a  m  of  Rome, 
Is  thy  true  heritage  and  homo! 


26  FATHER  CRCXJAN  AND  THE  BIBLE. 


FATHER  CROGAN  AND  THE  BIBLE. 


Father  Crogan,  a  priest  of  Romanism,  threw  the  Bible,  some 
time  since,  out  of  a  railroad  oar  window  on  the  Pennsyl  v-ania 
Central;  and  soon  will  these  same  fbiends  of  uepublioan  oovebn- 
ICEMT  endearor  to  flini;  our  Bible,  not  only  from  our  soliools  and 
railroad  cars,  but  from  our  alters  and  our  dwcllinRS.  So  let  U3 
prepare  for  this  (]jeat  revolution  of  religious  usage,  and  meet  it  iu 
the  apirit  of  {Christian  heroes. 


Father  Crogan  cannot  bear 

The  Bible,  as  I  now  declare! 

Or  why  should  he  his  ira  have  spout 

To  its  diss^ra-jieful  banishment? 

Father  GroflfaOf  does  the  lij;ht 
Of  truth  so  stiRmatizo  and  blight, 
Thou  cans't  not  bear  its  luoid  rays 
To  shine  upon  thy  priestly  ways? 
O,  is  thy  creed  so  foul  and  dark 
That  thus  it  woakon.H  'noath  the  spark. 
The  heavenly  flame  of  God's  decree? 
If  not,  what  meaneth  this  from  thee? 

Father  Crogan,  why,  I  pray, 
Dost  throw  the  ble%ied  book  away? 
'Twill  do  thee  good  if  thou  wilt  read, 
And  live  by  its  exalted  cbeed! 
The  Bible?  why,  'tis  Freedom's  own 
Eternal  shield  and  corner-stone! 

With  an  inspired  tongue  of  flame. 
It  is  the  living  word  that  came 
To  sow  amid  the  tares  of  strife 
The  seeds  of  Everlasting  Life! 
It  is  the  shrine,  the  l>ond  and  seal 
To  which  all  valiant  spirits  kneel! 

O,  what  sweet  memories  glow  and  bum 
Within  me  as  I  backward  turn. 
And  trace  beside  my  mother's  knee 


Father  crogan  and  the  bible.  27 

A  childish  form,  then  sworn  to  be, 
(To  which  she  gave  untiring  heed) 
A  faithful  pupil  of  its  creed.' 

Soon  she  unfolded  her  fair  wings, 
And  left  us  mid  the  ohanj^ng  things 
Of  this  frail,  human  life — though  yet 
Since  then  full  many  a  sun  hath  set. 
Still  this  I  understand  and  know— 
Amon;j  the  blcmms  that  spring  and  glow 
Along  ray  pathway,  none  more  fair 
Than  those  she  nourished  then  and  there. 

And  shall  we  now  forbear  to  feel 
The  love,  thi  reverence  and  zeal 
For  its  inspiied  iMiges?  No! 
Stand  up,  ye  bravo,  avert  the  blow; 
And  with  the  sword  of  truth  depose 
Its  cari)ing  and  uialioious  foes! 

Stand  up,  ye  freemen!  stand  again 
Like  sons  of  true,  heroic  mon! 
Stand  for  your  publia  sahool  and  youth! 
Stand  for  the  o  irner  stone  of  truth! 
Stand  bravely,  like  the  Sons  of  Might, 
Equipped  with  God's  Eternal  Light! 

<>,  must  our  free-born  youth  be  driven 
From  what  their  fathers  long  have  striven? 
Must  they  in  midnight  darkness  grope 
To  keep  alive  the  bigot's  hoi>e? 
To  fan  into  a  flickering  life 
The  embers  of  rebellious  strife? 
Forbid  it,  martyred  saints  of  love! 
Forbid  it,  all  ye  powers  above! 

Must  the  inspired  Word  of  God 
Be  stamped  into  the  hopeless  sod? 
Must  libertj ,  outraged,  disgraced. 
By  frauds  and  traitors  be  displaced? 
Forbid  it,  O,  thou  Blessed  Son 
Of  the  All-Wise  and  Holy  One! 

Brothers,  Freemen  of  the  land, 
Of  California's  golden  strand, 
O,  will  ye  peaceably  retire. 


28  FATHER  CROGAN  AND  TH^  BIBLE. 

And  let  these  wily  hordes  oouspire 
Afi:aui8t  yoar  country?    Will  ye  quail 
When  they  your  public  schools  assail? 
Forbid  it,  justice!  let  the  rod 
Of  venf^eanoe  teach  the  will  of  Ood! 

Brothers,  Sisters  of  the  laud. 
As  watchful  soldiers  let  us  stand. 
And  sow  amid  our  country's  youth 
The  seeds  of  liberty  and  truth! 
As  ohonen  martyrs  of  the  ri^ht, 
All  panoplied  with  heaven's  mi^ht. 
0«  let  na  trample  in  the  dust 
Them  germs  of  discord  and  distrust; 
And^rive  forever  from  our  soil 
Tlie  dragon's  form,  the  serpent's  coil! 

And  may  the  Stars  and  Stripes  still  be 
A  hallowed  symbol  of  the  free! 
Whoso  cherished  colors  shall  redeem 
Our  land  from  many  a  bigot's  dream— 
O,  raise  it  bravely  from  the  gloom; 
Entwine  it  with  a  Spring-time  bloom! 
Baptize  it  with  a  new-bom  zeal! 
Swear  to  protect  it  with  the  steel 
That  vbbedom^s  kons  mat  only  wield 

Oh  FBBXDOM^S  mOBTT  SATTIiK-FIEXD! 


INVOCATION  TO  THE  REFORMERS.  29 


INVOCATION  TO  THE  REFORMERS. 


Spirit  of  Martin  Luther,  son, 
And  type  of  some  illustrious  one 
That  generations  might  have  shed 
Upon  thy  brave,  heroic  head, 
I  pray  thee,  still  a  soldier  stand. 
And  guard  the  siifety  of  our  land  I 

Brave  Knox  and  Calvin,  fan  the  firea 
That  holy  vengeance  now  inspires: 
And  in  the  bugle-peals  of  woe, 
To  a  forbearing  nation  show 
The  deep  lain  treachery  and  strife 
That  mars  her  glory,  dims  her  life! 

Tear  oflF  the  mask,  reveal  the  dark 
Malignant  spoti  the  sign,  the  mark, 
And  let  ''the  Beast"  forever  stand 
An  ill-starred  omen  of  the  land! 
Renowned,  Inspired  and  Righteous  Three, 
Stir  up  the  fires  of  Liberty! 

From  that  fair  realm  of  love  and  light 
Come  forth,  as  on  the  wings  of  might: 
And  touch,  as  with  a  fiery  brand. 
Each  slumbering  freeman  of  our  laud  I 

O,  can  a  nation  ever  be 

A  prosperous  one,  wherein  we  see 

A  deadly  cancer  that  devours 

And  saps  the  life-blood  of  its  powers? 

A  leech  with  everlasting  maw 

Is  at  her  vitals;  and  at  war 

With  valor,  decency  and  law — 

A  Jesuitic,  leprous  sore, 

That  never  a  kingdom  may  restore; 

That  never  a  realm,  republic,  clime. 

To  aught  save  infamy  and  crime. 

The  storm,  as  the  dark  day  creeps  on 
Is  muttering  from  the  horizon! 


30  INVOCATION  TO  THE  REFORMERS. 

Sons  of  our  Land,  let  not  the  firo 
Of  your  heroio  camps  expire: 
But  like  a  light  uix>n  the  hill, 
().  let  them  p;lenm  and  bum  until 
The  plains  of  Freedom  are  ablaze 
Willi  floods  of  newly  beaming  rays! 

Immortal  Lincoln,  martyred  one, 
Who  fell  before  the  traitor's  gun. 
If  thou  mayost  still  be  near, 
Commingling  with  this  lower  sphere, 
O,  let  thy  hallowed  lips  inspire 
The  valiant  sou  of  each  brave  sire 
Until  the  very  land  shall  quake, 
And  to  each  zone  and  centre  shake! 

Lamented  Lincoln,  who  didst  lead 
The  weary  liondmen  to  thy  creed, 
If  thou  still  mayost  have  the  power, 
Be  near  us  in  this  signal  hour! 
Thy  hand  was  strong;  inspire  the  blow. 
This  papal  curse  to  overthrow! 

Brave  Huguenots,  who  fell  below 
This  cloven-hoofed,  satanio  foe, 
O.  bear  from  your  far  shadowy  land 
A  flaming  sword,  a  baming  brand! 
For  surely  righteousness  shall  speed 
The  hand  of  Judgment  in  its  deed! 

Pale,  silent  victims,  who  were  led 

Down  to  the  regions  of  the  dead. 

Whether  martyr,  nun  or  saint, 

W'e  note  your  wrongs  and  list  your  plainti 

Probation  with  its  crime  endures 

No  longer — strike,  the  day  is  yours! 

Reformer,  martyr,  hero,  nun. 

Here  is  your  foe!  the  treacherous  one 

Whose  hands  were  tinctured  with  the  stains 

Of  your  heart's  blood  and  pulsing  veins — 

Reformer,  martyr,  hero,  nun, 

Here  is  your  murderer;  'tis  done! 

At  last  the  old  Red  Dragon  lies 

A  oarrion  corpse  before  our  eyes! 


DOWN  WITH  THE  CONVENT.  SI 


DOWM   WITH  THE  CONVENT, 


Down  with  the  convent,  and  the  crime 
That  weaves  its  bl<M>dy  hands  with  timet 
Down,  ye  shameful  nunneries,  down, 
Beneath  the  hate,  the  curse  and  frown 
Of  God  himself  <).  foul  dis^jrace, 
That  ye  should  thus  have  found  a  place. 
With  all  5  our  mockeries,  on  the  soil 
That  freedom  oonsecnites  to  toil! 

Down,  thou  dread  stench  of  sin  and  death^ 
Thine  odors  are  the  poisonous  breath. 
The  (godless  and  tht^  crafty  wiles 
Of  priestly  arts  and  jesnit  smiles! 
Down,  doubly  down:  "out.  damned  spot!*' 
Thou  art  the  darkest,  foulest  blot, 
That  e'er  disgraoetl  and  brouj?ht  its  dearth 
To  the  green  plains  nnd  fields  of  earth! 

Thou  art  the  scourge,  the  curse,  the  crime, 

The  deadly  upaa  tree  of  time; 

The  great  despoiler.  that  keeps 

His  watch  where  maiden  beauty  sleeps; 

Where  woe  metes  out  to  youth  and  trust 

Ita  darkest  meeds  of  death  and  lust! 

Again  I  say,  "out.  damned  spot!" 

In  thy  polluticm  thou  hast  wrought 

Such  ruin,  wreck  and  sacrifice. 

That  not  the  tears  from  all  the  eyes 

Of  thy  lost  victims  may  suffice 

To  make  thee  clean:  nor  henceforth  win 

Redemption  from  the  tempter's  sin! 

Beware,  thou  hypocritic  priest, 
For  famine  follows  many  a  feast! 
And  surely  time  will  yet  reveal 
The  deeds  thy  cunning  would  conceal! 
Thy  dupes  and  vassals  in  their  cries 
Of  wrong  and  vengeance  shall  arise 
And  on  the  housetoiM  yet  proclaim 
A  truthful  resord  of  thy  shame! 


a2  DOWN  WITH  THE  CONVENT. 

O,  then,  thou  craven  of  the  night, 
How  wilt  thou  bear  Gixi's  noon-day  light? 
How  wilt  thou  stand  beneath  the  sun 
And  thy  great  retribution  shun? 

How  wilt  thou  stand  l>efore  the  blast 

That  brings  the  crimes  of  all  the  past 

In  one  vast  record  to  the  light? 

How  bear  the  curse,  the  stain,  and  blight, 

That  justice  in  her  ire  will  shed 

Upon  thy  ruthless,  sin-scarred  head? 


Weak  dupes  of  a  tyrannic  power, 
Poor  helpless  playthings  of  an   hour; 
In  snperstit ion's  cradle  bred. 
How  willingly  their  feet  are  led. 
Allured  by  the  destroyer's  breath. 
Into  the  very  jaws  of  death! 

Arouse,  ye  mothers,  quench  the  flame 
Of  superstition,  crime  and  shame! 
And  in  your  great  maternal  might 
O,  nip  the  bud  and  crush  its  blight; 
Strike  to  its  death  the  web  of  sin 
Those  Jesuitic  spiders  spin! 

O,  mothers  of  the  emerald  isle. 
How  can  ye  on  these  wreckers  smile? 
These  vilest  perjurers  of  truth! 
These  very  murderers  of  youth! 
How  can  ye  give  your  daughters  up 
To  woe  and  crime?  and  to  the  cup 
That  lust  and  treachery  prepare 
For  death,  for  ruin  and  despair? 

Arouse,  ye  mothers;  if  one  thrill 
Of  love  can  fire  the  stagnant  will, 
If  with  your  daughters  on  the  brink 
Of  hell,  your  slavish  souls  can  think, 
O,  grasp  them  from  the  red-hot  fires 
That  lure  by  their  most  foul  desires! 

Down  with  the  convent  and  the  curse 
That  its  unhallowed  deeds  rehearse! 
Down  with  a  creed  whose  withering  blight 


DOWN  WITH  THE  CONVENT. 


33 


Robs  life  of  liberty  and  light; 
And  shuts  within  a  godless  tomb 
The  rosy  blush  and  hopeful  bloom 
Of  maiden  youth!  forever  down 
The  great  Red  Dragon  with  his  crown! 
Down  with  his  horns  that  number  ten! 
Off  with  his  seven  heads,  and  then 
O,  bloom  anew,  thou  stricken  earth, 
With  a  new  baptism  and  the  birth. 
The  blessedness  and  heavenly  sway 
Of  God's  own  great  Millennial  Day! 


CIRCULATION  DEPARTMENT 

202  Moin  Library 


LOAN  PERIOD  1 
~    HOME  USE 

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AU  lOOKS  MAY  U  KCAUED  AFTH  7  DAYS 

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6  month  loons  moy  be  rechorged  by  bf  mgmg  books  to  Cuculotion  Desk 

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DUE  AS  STAMPED  BELOW 

NOV  ?0  1979 

«^«*  ocTjo  a 

rj 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  BERKELEY 
FORM  NO.  DD6.  60m,  1 1  /78  BERKELEY,  CA  94720 


